


In Safe Hands

by inabsurd



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Action, Ambiguous Relationships, Dad Stan, Family Feels, Fluff, Gen, Happy Ending, Homelessness, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Neglect, Light Angst, Minor Injuries, Minor Violence, Mullet Stan Pines, Theft, escaping bad guys, it's a fight you guys Stan get's to use his boxing powers, not in a ship way!!, nothing explicit but they get kicked out so obviously it's bad parenting brent, referenced Ford Pines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:07:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22872964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inabsurd/pseuds/inabsurd
Summary: Nothing Stan sets out to do ever goes as planned, so when he walks into a casino with an ace or seven up his sleeves, he's ready to be chased out by guards. When he accidentally becomes responsible for two homeless twins, though, that's unusual even for him.
Relationships: Dipper Pines & Mabel Pines, Dipper Pines & Mabel Pines & Stan Pines
Comments: 36
Kudos: 195





	In Safe Hands

**Author's Note:**

> I FINISHED THIS IN LIKE LATE JULY/EARLY AUGUST AND THEN. FORGOT ABOUT IT????? I SET IT ASIDE FOR EDITING AND DIDN'T TOUCH IT FOR LIKE SEVEN MONTHS OHMYGOD THIS IS WHY I SHOULDN'T BE ALLOWED TO WRITE

“Get back here!”

Stan snorts as best he can as he tears down the streets of Who-The-Hell-Knows, Iowa. “Does anyone actually listen to that?” he yells back cockily. He’s out of breath and weighed down by a duffle bag full of cash and about a dozen extra ace cards, but he can’t help himself from taunting the goons from the casino at least a little.

He chances a glance behind him to see the dickbags in suites splitting off down a couple of sidestreets.

Cursing, Stan makes a split second decision and detours down an alleyway. It’ll take him about two blocks away from the Stanley-Mobile and it’ll be a little slower getting there. Hopefully his gamble pays off and he can lose them in a dumpster or something. It won’t be his most glamourous escape yet, but, hey, as long as he leaves in one piece that doesn’t really matter.

He turns two corners before he finally spots a section of alley that is appropriately littered as a city of the United States. It’s no dumpster, but there’s a couple broken skids, several dozen cardboard boxes, and enough fast food bags to stuff a small motel room. Not to mention it’s a bit of a three-way intersection which means the guys chasing him will probably have to split off to try to catch him.

There’s also two children sniffling on some steps nearby. A boy and a girl by the looks of it who can’t be more than ten years old. Shoving aside any concern that definitely isn’t forming in his mind, Stan forces himself to focus; if he hides here, there’ll be witnesses.

“He went this way!” he hears a voice shout, and Stan knows that it’s here or nowhere.

He raises a finger to his lips hastily, makes certain that he makes direct eye contact with one of the kids, then dives under a small mountain of packing peanuts.

One set of clunky footsteps passes, and then a second. Several minutes later, he hears a third, and praises whatever poor sap ended up watching over him for a job well done.

Then he hears the footsteps returning and Stan swears silently.

_ Just like me to get comfortable before I’m out of the damn storm,  _ he thinks.

Around him, he hears boxes being kicked around at random and the gruff voice of a goon.

“Either of you see a man run through here? About this tall and ugly as shit?”

It’s silent for a long time, and Stan can only hope that those kids are shaking their heads.

Then, softly, “What’d he do?” asks a small voice.

“He robbed us,” the man says.

Stan winces. Kids are obsessed with right and wrong, and while the assholes chasing him aren’t what a child would consider ‘good’ by any means, the way the guy says it (by which Stan means  _ honestly _ ) doesn’t exactly paint him in the better light out of the two.

“Oh,” is the flat response.

“So did you see where he went?” asks the man.

“Why not call the police?” asks the second kid. He sounds suspicious, and Stan can’t help but feel a little hope. The kid seems to have figured out that there’s more going on here.

The goon is getting impatient and doesn’t answer. Instead, he snaps, “Did you see where he went or not?”

Silence follows and for half a second, Stan thinks he’s in the clear. Then the bastard says “Thanks, Sport,” in the smuggest tone he’s ever heard. 

Stan has to fight to keep his breathing even.  _ Okay, don’t panic,  _ he tells himself.  _ If you run now, they’re gonna get you. Wait until they’re closer and then catch them off guard. _

The footsteps come towards him, and his entire body tenses up in preparation to make a break for it. Then they stop about three feet from his mound of styrofoam, and the voice of the man meets his ears.

“Stay with the brats,” he says. It takes Stan a moment to realize that the guy’s giving orders to someone else nearby, “If they lied, I’ll be back to make ‘em talk.”

Then, louder, he announces, “Follow me,” and turns down another sidestreet. Several other footsteps follow.

Stan sighs in relief but he knows he’s not out of the woods yet.

Things are quiet again, and the tension is nearly enough to suffocate him. Then he hears two little feet shuffle on the pavement, followed by the pissed off demand to stay put from the remaining casino guard.

Judging by the scrambled footfalls, the kids don’t listen.

“You stupid brats!” the sound of heavy, pounding feet follows.

Stan winces from his hiding place. Those kids looked ridiculously small; there’s no way they can both outrun the guard. One of them will get caught.

He heaves himself up out of the garbage and tries not to let that bother him. Whoever those kids are, they’re not his responsibility. It was nice of them not to rat on him, but being nice is for suckers and learning that lesson sooner rather than later can only do them good in the long run.

Stan turns back towards where he came in. Circling back out onto the mainstreet and then taking the sidestreet over on 105 th  Avenue will get him back to the Diablo twice as fast as continuing through the alleys, and it puts him out of range of the people hunting him. He has most of the goons on a wild goose chase, and those kids as a diversion when they get back empty handed. It’s the perfect escape.

And yet the threat from the bastard in charge rings in his head.  _ If they lied, I’ll be back to make ‘em talk. _

Stan knows first hand what kind of treatment follows that threat, and if he’s gone when the kids give in it’ll only get worse for them.

And, damnit, they’re so small! What are they doing on the streets this late anyway?

The grifter shoots a longing look towards the mainstreet and takes a few steps towards the mouth of the alleyway. Then he pauses.

“Guess I’m still a sucker,” he mutters. He turns back around and tears off into the little sidestreet he heard those kids run down.

He’s not even on the move for two minutes when he sees the kids again, and he takes a moment to feel grateful that he had decided to follow them after all.

The little girl is perched up on a fire escape, chucking bricks at the goon, while her brother runs circles around the guy while trying to avoid being both hit and caught. Stan arrives just in time to see the girl nail the bastard in the foot with a brick and send him toppling to the ground.

Unfortunately, the guard falls right on top of the boy.

“Dipper!” the girl screams. She turns and desperately tries to push down the emergency ladder.

Stan sees the goon pull a switchblade out of his pocket, and all the decision making bits of his brain shut down. The next thing he knows, his brass knuckles are connecting to the back of the guy’s head. He’s out in an instant; dead weight slumping onto the small boy who squeaks at the impact.

The conman is just about to pull the body off the kid when he sees a brick clatter and break two feet away from him.

He looks up at the fire escape where the little girl is glaring at him. She has another brick at the ready, and her voice doesn’t waver when she yells, “Get away from my brother!”

Memories of after school fistfights race to the forefront of his brain; Stan can’t help but see the same reckless determination he used to wear like an armour on the kid before him.

He raises his hands placatingly. “Look, I won’t hurt him,” he tells her as he schools his face into one of earnest concern. “I’m just gonna move this jac-uh, jerk. I’m gonna move this jerk.”

The little girl hesitates.

“I’ll back off as soon as I’m done,” Stan says, “But you can’t move him on your own, can you?”

The girl glares, holds her brick steady, but she concedes, “Okay.”

Stan smiles at her and then turns to the boy. “Alrighty, Kid, this’ll just take a sec,” he tells him.

Dipper, Stan thinks his name is, grunts an affirmative, and the man wastes no more time pulling the goon off of him.

As soon as he’s free, the boy scrambles towards the wall that the fire escape is on. He’s gasping for breath, but it’s nothing to be concerned about considering he was just crushed under three-hundred pounds of stupid asshole.

“Are you okay, Dip-Dop?” the girl asks, craning over the edge to get a look at the boy. He shoots her a thumbs up in response since he’s too busy hacking up a lung to form actual words. Satisfied, the girl turns her wide brown eyes on him.

Under the gaze of the child that  _ he  _ put in danger, Stan can’t help but squirm a little. “I...” Moses, when was the last time he was anywhere near a kid? “Thanks for, uh, for covering for me,” he says.

The girl beams, “No problem! Those guys were super sketchy,” she says. Then her expression softens, and Stan thinks that he’ll get whiplash from her rapid switch in attitude towards him. “Are you okay, Mister?”

The grifter does a brief impression of a fish out of water.  _ Leave it to a kid to check on the health of a known thief after almost getting her brother shanked,  _ he thinks uncomfortably.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he tells her. He pauses to reconsider when he remembers the bruises, cuts, and ratty clothes the kids must see when they look at him. He shrugs, “No worse for wear anyway,” he settles on. “What’re you kids doin’ out so late?” he asks to change the subject.

Apparently that makes  _ them _ uncomfortable if the shared look between them and the tense silence is any indication.

Stan takes a second to look at the kids, to  _ really  _ look at them. Their clothes are clean which is out of the ordinary for street kids and yet the boy has a backpack on him, and they were crying when he first stumbled across them.  _ New street kids then,  _ he thinks.

“You two runaways?” he asks.

Dipper speaks for the first time, “ _ She  _ is.” 

Stan can’t pinpoint if the kid sounds more bitter or mournful, his tone seems evenly mixed with each.

His sister glares down at him from above but there’s no heat to it. What’s there instead is pure, unadulterated, righteous anger. “He doesn’t get to send you anywhere without me.”

The truth dawns on Stan faster than he’d like it to. “You got kicked out,” It’s not a question but he wishes it were. He wishes he didn’t have the first hand experience to know better.

The kids don’t say a word and any hope the conman had of being wrong shrivels up and dies.

“Holy Moses,” he mutters as his pacing begins anew. “You’re, what, ten? What kinda parent kicks out a kid?”

“Hey, I’m a teenager!” Dipper yells indignantly. 

Stan slows his pacing to look over the kid once more.  _ Definitely a baby,  _ he thinks, and purses his lips in disbelief.

Quietly, the kid admits, “Almost. I will be soon.”

“Not until August!” his sister corrects, much to the chagrin of her brother.

“My point stands,” the man insists. Idly, he shifts his duffle bag from one shoulder to the other by pulling it over his head and across his body.

The boy glares up at him but doesn’t argue. “It doesn’t matter,” he says instead. 

That pisses Stan off in a way he hasn’t felt in nearly ten years,  _ Children, _ the conman thinks,  _ shouldn’t be indifferent to getting kicked out. _

It’s weird, but Stan feels the need to protect these two kids growing inside of him. Call it what you want, self projection or an attempt at righting old wrongs...What it is doesn’t matter; what does is getting these kids off the streets. He was seventeen when he got kicked out and he’s barely scraping by. He doesn’t even want to imagine what life will be like for these twelve-year-olds.

“Look, do you two have anywhere you can go? Some other family maybe?”

The girl raises her hand to her chin, and sticks out her tongue in an exaggerated show of concentration, “Grandma’d probably take us in…” she says thoughtfully.

Her brother shakes his head as he gently reminds her, “We haven’t seen them in years and Grandpa doesn’t like us.”

The girl slumps, “Oh, right.”

Stan doesn’t know what kind of grandpa wouldn’t like their own grandchildren, but he supposes that if such a grandparent exists, it only makes sense that they’re the parent to someone willing to throw two twelve-year-olds onto the streets at night. Because why not screw these kids over even more, right? As they say, go big or go home.

“What about aunts or uncles?” he asks, “Hell, even a great-aunt or great-uncle?”

“Bad word,” the girl chastises automatically but her heart doesn’t seem in it.

Stan winces, “Right. Sorry.”

The girl doesn’t bother responding and instead looks to her brother, “Doesn’t-“ she pauses, gulps, and starts again, “Didn’t Mama have brothers?”

The conman grimaces; he may not have been the brainiac of the family, but even he can pick up on the meaning behind the word choice there.

Dipper nods, “Yeah, that’s what Grandma said…”

“Do you know where they live?” Stan asks eagerly.

“We’ve never met them,” he says.

The man sighs bitterly,  _ Of course they haven’t. _

“Well, I’m not just leaving you out on the streets.”

The boy seems to shrink away from him. “Well, we’re not going anywhere with you,” he says defiantly.

_ Smart kid,  _ Stan thinks, “Look, normally that ‘stranger danger’ thing protects you, but you’re using it on the wrong guy.”

Dipper clearly doesn’t believe him but his sister seems to hesitate.

“I’m calling a council meeting,” she declares from atop the fire escape, “Help me down, Sir Dippin’ Sauce!”

Her brother groans dramatically and shoots Stan one last suspicious glance before approaching the ladder that the girl has half pushed down, but can’t seem to get any further thanks to the excess rust. From the fire escape, the girl stomps on the ladder in an attempt to lower it a bit more while her brother hops up and down from the below. He swings his arms widely as he tries to grasp the edge of it.

“Uh, do you kids want some help with that?” the grifter offers.

Dipper looks to be on the verge of a retort, but his sister smoothly intercepts, “Request granted.”

Even Stan has to jump to catch the edge of the ladder, and he once again allows himself to feel comforted by his decision to follow these kids instead of skipping out of town; who knows how the girl would have gotten down without help?

...Now that he considers it, he wonders how she got  _ up  _ in the first place?

The ladder shakes loose and hits the pavement with a  _ CLANG. _ Wincing, Stan glances back down the alley they had come down--surely they were running out of time? It’s strange that the casino goons hadn’t come looking for their buddy or the kids yet…

_ Shit. _

“Your council meeting’s gonna hafta wait,” he tells them, “We gotta get out of here,” he tries to keep his voice level, but his eyes dart about widely.

“What? No way!” Dipper takes a step back from him, but his eyes never leave his sister’s who remains isolated on the fire escape.

“Yeah way,” Stan says and gestures towards the ladder, “We’ll take the rooftops.”

Dipper glares and opens his mouth, a question hot on his tongue when his unvoiced concerns answer themselves from the pathway they had come down.

“They’re over here!”

Stan wastes no more time. Confused as he is by the other voice, the boy doesn’t have time to avoid the grifter’s reach. He’s drug over by his arm, and then Stan is lifting the kid part way up the ladder to give him a head start.

“Go!” he yells as the boy hesitates, “You can accuse me of kidnapping later!”

That seems to kick Dipper into gear. He pulls himself up the ladder two rungs at a time. Above him, Stan can see the girl starting up the stairs that connect to the next platform and apartment window.

Stan follows closely behind, and three men follow him. By the time he’s at the top of the ladder and onto the first platform, the goons have already started on it and it’s too late for the conman to try to block them off. Instead, he tears up the little stairs after the kids, and keeps a constant vigilance on the rear in case the guards catch up.

Which, of course, they do. That’s just how life treats Stanley Pines.

The kids are short-legged, and the dim lighting makes it hard to take two steps without tripping; this was doomed not to be a clean escape from the get-go. Steeling himself, Stan whips around to face the first guard as the children continue their trek.

He’s lucky, and catches the first asshole off guard. A right hook straight to the temple is all it takes for him to drop like a sack of potatoes down the steps and onto the two below him.

Stan cheers silently as he runs up to the next platform while the two remaining goons try to stumble their way over their buddy. In front of him, the kids seem to have gotten the hang of feeling their way up the steps in the dark. The girl’s sweater snags on the handrails, and the boy’s feet slip down between the steps more times than he can count, but they’re making decent progress, which is about all Stan can ask for at the moment.

He and the kids make it up another two platforms before the goons manage to catch up to him. The man almost catches him off guard, and Stan is lucky to have chanced a glance back when he did. His poor lookout skills cost him a blow to the gut, but at least he’s prepared for it. Stan’s swinging at him before the goon’s punch hits its mark. The wind is knocked from his lungs for half a second, and then his fist is connecting the guy’s jaw.

They trade blows back and forth, neither of them willing to give in as they each attempt to bring the other down. Stan’s holding his own alright, but then he’s grabbed by the shirt collar and shoved backwards.

Everything around him spins and, distantly, through the sounds of ringing metal, he hears the kids scream.

He comes to a sudden and painful stop when his face collides with the grates of the platform. He doesn’t even have a chance to catch his breath when he feels a foot strike him in the gut, before he’s hauled to his feet, and hands wrap around the strap of his duffle bag to pull it up and over his head.

“Hey, I stole this fair and square!” he grabs the strap himself and tries to pry the hands of the guard off of him. The bag is pulled up over his head, and Stan redoubles his struggling in an attempt to retain his hold on the money. He kicks blindly at the guy, sacrificing his balance for a blow.

The goon loses his balance at Stan’s reckless leg sweep, but thanks to the unsure footing of them both, and the way they’re locked together through their grips on the duffle bag, Stan and the guard end up careening backwards and over the edge of the platform.

It takes every self-preservation instinct in his body to force Stan to let go of the cash and grip the grate of the platform instead but even as his shoulder jars at the snap-stop of his descent, he doesn’t have it in himself to regret it as the guard hits the ground with all the grace of a marionette cut from its strings. Except, you know, with blood, bones, and organs.

Stan forces himself to look away and takes a deep breath. Slowly, methodically, he pulls himself up over the railing. His shoulder screams violently at the strain but he pushes on, gritting his teeth through the pain. With panting breaths, he manages to heave himself up and over the edge. He allows himself five seconds to just focus on the inhale and exhale of his lungs, all the while trying to ignore the shocks racing up and down his arm.

He doesn't even get that, however. In the next second, Stan's ears are met with the cries of two small children. Looking up, he has to forcefully swallow down the rage that threatens to consume him.

As a child, Stan had had his fair share of protective moments--hell, they made up most of his school days if he's being honest--but never in his life has he felt such intense and pervading anger.

The goon, the one that pushed him down to this platform in the first place, has the little girl. He's gripping her arm tightly enough to bruise, and her struggling surely only adds to the pain that twists at her face. Trapped behind them both is her brother, who looks at his sister helplessly. The boy tries to approach the pair, but the guard looks over his shoulder at Dipper and increases his grip on the girl's arm.

She cries out, and Stan snaps.

"Let them go!" he bellows. It's been so long since he had someone, anyone, to protect; he forgot how terrifying it is.

The goon smirks, "And why should I? After all the trouble they've caused, I think I should get something out of it."

Stan recognizes that voice immediately as the leader from the trash-filled alley. Hatred wells up inside of him.

"They got nothin' to do with this," he seethes, although he tries not to show it; Stan learned long ago that the more you care, the more you display that you care, the more you have to lose. "They were just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Yes, well, you have to be willing to suffer the consequences when you steal from us," he leers over the girl, "Or when you lie," he says.

"I'm the one who lied!" it's Dipper's voice ringing out from behind the asshole. His body is tense with fear, but his voice doesn't falter.

The guard doesn't even hesitate in his explanation. In a blase tone, he says, "Then this girl can teach you both a lesson," he locks eyes with Stanley, "Move," and gestures back down the fire escape.

Stan glares but does as he's told. Turning on his heel, he begins slowly down the rusted metal steps.

His heart and shoulder throb in tandem with each other as he begins the slow trek back to the ground. He doesn't want to risk hurting these kids by fighting the guy, but he also doesn't want to hurt them through spineless compliancy. He needs an edge if he wants to get him and the kids out of this.

This edge comes two platforms from the end of the line, in the form of Dipper's leg falling through the steps. The goon turns around to check on the kid and is greeted by Stan body chucking the bastard the second he turns his back.

The girl cries out as she falls to the ground with them but the man's grip loosens in surprise. She scrambles to her feet and over to her brother while Stan takes the opportunity to pummel the guy into the next century. Blow after blow connects with his face as the grifter unleashes Hell's fury on the man.

Distantly, he hears himself growling between punches, "You don't target children. You don't attack kids who just lost their homes! They have nothing!" he screeches, unaware he could even produce such a sound.

"Stop it!"

Awareness creeps into Stan's brain slowly. He takes in his bloody knuckle dusters and bruised hands. He takes in the body beneath his, completely still save for the slow, shaky inhale of breath. Finally, he sees the kids; they cling to one another, bruised, trembling, and wide-eyed. They stare at him in horror.

Wincing, Stan pulls himself off of the guard. "There's gonna be more," he says gruffly, staring down at the space between the grates at the road below. "We should keep going.”

The kids nod their heads slowly, and carefully begin their trek back up the fire escape. Stan is about to join them when he chances a glance back towards the ground and sees his duffle bag laying there, completely unguarded.

“You two keep going,” he calls ahead, “I just need to get my bag. I'll catch up.”

He sprint's down the last few platforms and doesn't breathe easy until his cash is once more secure on his person. Then, he makes his way back up towards the roof once more.

The grifter catches up to the kids without issue, and together, they reach the rooftop. Stan leads the children to the next apartment building over. It goes a few stories higher than the one they're on, but it's close thanks to the narrow alley streets, and the fire escape is on their side of the building which is a point in their favour. He kneels down by the kids carefully.

"I'm going to hafta lift you over if you're ever gonna reach it," he tells them gently, "Is that okay?"

The kids glance at one another and nod. The grifter was expecting more from them--a denial, a debate, an interrogation, or something. Instead, they look at him tiredly, and simply allow themselves to be hoisted up and towards the fire escape of the next building. It's hell on Stan's shoulder, but the kids don't wiggle much, which makes all the difference. Once both kids have hopped the railing and are waiting safely on the platform, he follows suit. Together, the three continue up another three platforms and then crawl onto the next roof.

The buildings around this one are a little further away but they're both shorter than the level they're on, so maybe...they could jump? The concrete will hurt, but it's a largely undamaging fall. They could always go back but...well, the way Stan sees it, the further they get from this area, the better.

"We're gonna need to jump here, kids," he tells them. The boy eyes the next rooftop sceptically.

"No way we can make that jump!" he's looking at Stan like he's crazy but at least he's responding to him now.

The conman puts on his best salesman smile. "We'll be fine," he tells them, "I'll go first and then you two jump after me and I'll catch you."

"Are you sure it's safe?" asks the girl as she warily approaches the edge and eyes the long drop down.

_ Not unless you have a death wish, _ he thinks, but keeps that thought to himself.

Truth be told, Stan has never been a fan of heights. Even as a kid, Ford had to be the one to take the top bunk because even Stanley had limits he just couldn’t push. The finality of a sudden drop has always been enough to have him backing away in terror.

But he can’t back away from this. There are at least ten more guards roaming these alleys, and the Diablo is still several blocks away.

“We’ll be fine,” he tells her. He’s trying to reassure himself as much as he is her.

She eyes him critically, a look that’s mirrored by her brother. Finally, she settles on a “If you say so.”

This kid’s trusting nature is jerking him around like a dog’s new chew toy. He wonders if he was ever that naive.

_ Wherever we go, we go together, _ rings in his head and Stan has to force himself not to gag on a lifetime old concoction of  _ bitter _ , and  _ hurt _ , and  _ what do I do now _ .

He smiles tightly at the girl and approaches the edge of their building. It really isn’t that far, maybe three feet away, and little more than a yard down from the level they’re already on. Easy. Piece of cake.

_ I’m gonna end up the next stain in these fuckin’ alleys. _

The vagrant gulps and backs away from the edge.

“Are you okay?” the girl edges closer to him, her brother not far behind.

“Yup,” Stan says. He makes a big show of stretching his arms and neck out, “Just gettin’ ready.”

Dipper’s nose pinches dubiously, “Shouldn’t you be stretching your legs?”

“No,” the thief replies way too quickly for it to be even remotely believable, “Shouldn’t  _ you  _ be stretching your legs?”

The kids squint at him with twin expressions of confusion and it suddenly hits Stan how similar they look to each other. They have the same wide eyes and button noses, the same face shape and height…

“Are you guys twins?” he blurts out. Damn, the height’s screwing with him more than he thought.

“Yeah!” the girl bounces excitedly, “I’m Mabel and this is my brother Dipper!” she’s beaming at the announcement, but her eyes are hard and filled with challenge.

_ Weird _ , Stan thinks, but shrugs. She seems a little weird so he supposes it’s okay.

"Nice to officially meet ya, I guess," he rubs the back of his neck. "Not the greatest way to make friends and all that, but, hey, I'll take what I can get." He reaches out a hand, "The name's Stan."

"Nice to meet you too!" she grins, and meets his hand with hers.

The vagrant finds himself becoming enamoured with this girl's smile; it’s wide, her voice is loud, she'd got no fears, and her brother’s at her side-

"Well," he coughs awkwardly, "S'pose I better get going," he gestures to the jump. If there’s one thing Stanley hates more than heights, it’s dealing with the baggage he’s been carrying around about his family.

Without waiting for a reply, he takes off. He gets a running start from where he is because Christ knows if he has to look over the edge before jumping, he never will.

His feet leave the ground and, for a terrifying moment, he's completely at gravity's mercy.

Pain shoots up his knees in the next second, and then his back as he tumbles into the hard concrete of the roof. A groan pulls itself from his lips.

"Stan!"

It's one of the kids, or maybe both of them, he can't really tell. Dipper's voice is high enough in pitch that he can't differentiate between them right now as he cradles one of his throbbing legs.

_ Probably shoulda planned for the landing bit _ , he thinks to himself.

"Stan, are you okay?"

"'M fine!" he yells back. He takes one more shakey inhale before hauling himself to his feet. Between his strained shoulder and his newly wrecked knees, it's a lot harder than it should be, but he manages--even if he does look like an old man during the whole standing up process.

Shuffling over to the edge of the roof, he cracks a smile at the twins, "Okay, your turn."

They look at each other nervously. Dipper leans over and whispers something to his sister that drops her jaw in indignation. She says something back that has both kids looking disappointed and helpless.

Then she's backing up, "Are you ready?"

Stan takes a moment to brace himself, "Yeah, go for it, Kiddo!"

Mabel comes at him in a bright, colourful blur of screaming twelve-year-old. She barrels into him with an "Oof," and Stan has to take a moment to silently thank his Pa for the boxing lessons. They're the only thing the man ever did for him, but if it weren't for years of learning how to control his body, he has no doubt he would have toppled over at Mabel's impact.

He sets her down gently and watches in amusement as she plops down onto the ground beside him with a huff, muttering "I can't believe I just did that," all the while.

The conman turns back to Dipper. "Okay, Kid, your turn."

He hesitates, shuffling his feet from side to side, pacing and muttering to himself as he does so. Watching Dipper panic, Stan can't help but see a younger Ford in him as he tries to avoid the approaching bullies. Then Dipper looks to Mabel, alone with Stan on another building, and his expression hardens. 

It ruins any similarities Stan might have seen; Ford never looked at him like that. He never had to as a kid, and, when it mattered most, he didn’t bother.

He backs up next, farther than he or Mabel went, and breaks into a sprint. His eyes close as he makes the jump, and Stan is filled with mounting terror as he watches the kid’s rapidly approaching body.

The twelve-year-old barely makes it and Stan has to grip his shirt collar tightly with both arms to ensure his safety. Hauling the boy further onto the rooftop—several feet away from the edge—the grifter allows himself to breathe a sigh of relief.

“See,” he says, about as breathless as the nearly-hyperventilating Dipper, “That wasn’t so bad.”

Dipper glares at him, but he can see a small grin twitching at his lips, “You’re crazy,” he tells him.

His sister puts her hands on her hips proudly and sizes Stan up, “I like him,” she decides.

When was the last time someone said that to Stan? He thinks it must’ve been Carla. Y’know,  _ before  _ his life went to shit. In the ten years he’s been on the road, on the run, he can’t recall hearing or even observing someone genuinely enjoying his company. He’s...provided services in the past that people have enjoyed, but that’s a far cry from the honest, undeserved approval he’s receiving now.

He coughs awkwardly, “I like you too, Pumpkin,” he says. He thinks that it’s probably the truth too. “Alright, let’s get goin’. My car’s still a ways away.”

The kids follow him without hesitation this time, and together the three make their way down this building’s fire escape.

Of course, following without hesitation doesn’t mean without question. Or rather  _ questions _ in Dipper’s case.

“So why are we trying to get to your car?”

“I gotta get us someplace safe from those goons chasin’ us,” he says, thumbing over his shoulder to gesture behind himself, “And my car’s about as safe as I get.”

Suspicion is once again lacing the boy’s tone, “And where are we going after that?”

Stan shrugs. “Dunno. West, maybe? I need outta this state before they kick me out.”

“So we’re going to live with you?” it’s Mabel’s question this time.

“I don’t know ‘bout that, Sweetie.”

She stops in front of him and hits him with the biggest sucker-inducing puppy eyes he’s ever seen, “Why not?”

He looks away, “It just wouldn’t work out in the long run.”

She pouts, but luckily Dipper interrupts before his sister can use her powers for something nefarious, “So what are you going to do with us then?”

Stan shifts awkwardly. When he had first gotten kicked out, he’d been offered outs a couple of times. Shermie, his older sister, had single-handedly tracked him down about three months into making it on his own to try to convince him into moving in with her. Needless to say that he’d skipped out of there less than a week later because he was determined not to rely on the help of anyone.

Looking at these twins, Stan’s not sure they’d react much differently because,  _ seriously _ , what kid reacts well to hearing that they need to be turned in to social services. Yikes.

“How ‘bout we just cross that bridge when we get to it?” he asks by way of a weak compromise.

Dipper huffs and Mabel scrunches her nose.

“Sounds like something a kidnapper would say,” the girl says far too cheerily.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he sweats, “Last thing I need is a  _ longer _ criminal record,” he tells them, “This ain’t a kidnapping, got it? You’re free to go whenever you want, but I think you’ll be safer with me.”

The kids shrug, but make no move to argue further or to make a break for it.  _ That’s gotta count for something at least _ , Stan thinks.

They arrive at the bottom of the fire escape without much fanfare and Stan helps haul the kids off the last platform instead of leaving them to it just because he can. This bit of alley isn’t anymore glamorous than the last, but it’s not far from the Diablo, and that’s a win in Stan’s book.

Together, the twins and the vagrant weave their way through each new section of alley. Over the years, Stan’s gotten pretty good at maneuvering his way through dodgy sidestreets. He even bothered to look at a map of the area before going to the casino with his extra aces, so he’s actually sort of prepared for once.

Stan’s only marginally lost when they finally happen across the main road again, for which he can’t resist patting himself on the back. On top of that, he even made it without getting caught by anymore suit wearing douches. 

Double checking on the kids, who stand nervously at his side, Stanley enters the street. Despite the late hour, the road’s still relatively full of people; he must have found the party street of this city. On either side of the road, warm light and even warmer bodies poor out from the doors of bars and strip clubs alike. Had he walked away with just money and not two little kids, Stan probably would have treated himself to a drink for a job well done here.

He pulls the kids close as they wander through the drunk and scantily clad people that wander the streets. Stan is especially careful to avoid the street workers who plant themselves on corners and empty overhangs. He’s never met a violent sex worker, but he’s with two little kids and there are questions that he just doesn’t want to answer.

_ That’s supposed to be their  _ parents'  _ job. _

And speaking of, now’s as good a time as any to try to get some more answers from them. Maybe conversation will distract them from what exactly goes on in these streets.

“So...it was your dad who kicked ya out?”

_ Smooth, Stan. Real subtle. _

Dipper stares resolutely ahead, “He was our mom’s boyfriend, actually.”

The vagrant nods, “And your ma?” he asks.

“She died,” Mabel’s voice is small and feeble.

Stan’s stomach sinks, “And you’ve got no other family that can take you in,” he reiterates.

The twins shake their heads in unison, “We don’t know our birth dad, and Grandpa didn’t like our mom that much,” Dipper explains, “I doubt he’d let us stay.”

Mabel nods in agreement, “Yeah he’s pretty...traditional,” she looks meaningfully at Dipper.

Stan takes that in quietly as the three of them cross the street and leave the bars and escorts behind.

“I take it your ma’s boyfriend is also  _ traditional _ ?” he asks as delicately as he can.

The boy doesn’t answer right away but instead spins on Stan. There’s a fire in his eyes when he asks, “Are you?”

The thief grins to himself, “My Ma always said I had personality. Pa said I was a screw up. Whatever it is,”  _ screw up, definitely screw up,  _ “It got me kicked out, and I ain’t exactly been living ‘traditionally’ since.”

That seems to cheer Dipper up, even if he looks a little shocked and upset for Stan in the process. Mabel just looks upset.

“That’s horrible!” her face pulls down in a scowl.

Stan shrugs, “So is what’s happenin’ to you kids,” he reminds her.

Her gaze falls to the sidewalk below, “It’s not fair,” she mumbles into the neck of her sweater.

When Stan was a boy, the first thing he had learned from his pa was that life wasn’t fair. Thinking back on it, the speech he gave on the subject was probably the most Filbrick Pines had ever spoken to his sons at one time.  _ It’s not a matter of what life will do for you _ , he’d said to Stan and Ford after their first day of school,  _ It’s about what life will do  _ to  _ you. The world doesn’t owe you a cent, so it’s up to you to use what’s at your disposal to make a profit—by any means necessary. _

Looking at the little girl and her brother, who are older than he was when he heard the speech, Stan can’t help but wonder what his father was thinking. He can't find it in himself to deliver the same speech to two strangers, forget ever having to do so to his own children.

He pats Mabel’s head in lieu of an answer.

His pa may have been right, but that doesn’t mean that Stan’s going to point it out. The way Stan sees it, the less lives his father is involved in, even indirectly, the better. It’ll be a cold day in hell before he lets his pa ruin the lives of two kids he’s never even met.

“Well,” Stan says, clapping the twins on the back as they approach the Stanley-Mobile, “If you kids got nowhere else to go, I can get you to a home or something. I’d offer to get you to a police station, but the fuzz and I ain’t exactly on good terms right now.”

“You’re leaving us?” Mabel asks. Tears well up in her eyes and betrayal pulls at her face, twisting her normally excited expression.

The conman sighs as he turns to face them both. This is the part he's been dreading. “It’s for the best, Kid,” he tells her, “There’s nowhere else I can take you.”

“Can’t we stay with you?” she asks, “Even just for a couple days?”

“No,” his voice comes out harsher than he meant for it to, but it’s probably for the best that he gets tough on them now, “There’s barely enough space for me in my car, nevermind two little rugrats.”

Dipper steps forward, “Please? It’s my fault we got kicked out in the first place—I don’t want us to end up in some orphanage or something because of me.”

“Is my car really an improvement?” Stan pinches the bridge of his nose and points out, “You just met me.”

“If you were a bad guy you wouldn’t be trying to get us to child services,” he counters.

_ Well, he’s got me there. _

“I can’t stay in town another night,” he tries instead, “Those casino goons will be after me, and I’ve got a whole line of people who want a piece of me.”

“Then we have to go with you,” Mabel jumps victoriously, “Someone has to watch your back!”

Stan’s jaw drops. He hasn’t had someone who had his back since...well, since before the science fair incident. Before West Coast Tech and nerd gizmos he didn’t understand and a hard face drawing the curtain on him and turning his back forever. Back when him and Ford were still small like Dipper and Mabel, thick as thieves and excited about experiencing life together.

These kids aren’t him and Ford, but they have what he used to. They have what he could have had if he hadn’t ruined Ford’s life. They have what he could have if Ford hadn’t rejected him in his hour of need.

_ These kids… _

Maybe Stan’s hour of need never really ended. Maybe it’s been more like a decade of need and these kids are the answer. It’s too late for him to fix his own life, too late to right old wrongs, but it’s not too late for him to help these kids.

And maybe they can help him too, just a little.

“Damnit,” he says, but he doesn’t mean it in the slightest. A grin stretches his lips wide, “Get in then,” he tells them, “And try not to break anything.”

The kids whoop in excitement, high-fiving without hesitation and racing to the car as fast as their little legs will carry them, chanting ‘Pines, Pines, Pines _ ,’  _ over and over agai-

_ Wait a minute...when did I tell them my last name? _

He doesn’t think he did, but unless the kids are yelling about limes and he just misheard them…

“Hey, kids!”

They pause their race, with Mabel a good yard ahead of her twin.

“Yeah?” asks Dipper breathlessly.

The vagrant swallows thickly. He’s being stupid, he knows he is, but he has to ask, “What’re you yelling?”

They look at each other in confusion.

“Oh!” Understanding glitters in Mabel’s eyes. “Pines. It’s our last name,” she tells him, and then she takes off running again.

“Cheater!” Dipper yells and tears off after her.

Stan, however, is rooted to his spot.

“Pines,” he says, testing the sound in his mouth as if he hadn’t said it a million times in his life. “Dipper and Mabel  _ Pines _ .”

He stares after them as they smack into the side of his car. Mabel cheers happily and Dipper makes a big show of being disappointed even as his smile mirrors hers. Stan takes in the  _ Pines twins  _ before him, completely dumbstruck.

It must be a coincidence. It  _ must  _ be. If it isn’t, hell, even if it  _ is _ , it’s one sick joke. It’s absolute bullshit that these kids,  _ twins,  _ should share his surname and make him even consider the possibility of having a family again.

Stan’s about two seconds away from having a meltdown when the kids turn their matching grins on him.

“C’mon, Slowpoke,” Mabel teases and pulls on the handle of his locked car eagerly.

“Right,” he takes a breath and a stride.

Sick joke or not, there's no way Stan's going back on his commitment now. He's not one to abandon people, not the good ones anyway, and he thinks he needs this about as much as the kids do.

“Well,” he mutters, approaching the Diablo, “Here goes nothing,” because what else is there to do? Pines or not, relatives or not, he’s going to protect these kids--any crazy revelations, relations, or coincidences be damned.

He shuts the door to his car, eyeing the road ahead in trepidation. “Buckle up, Kids. We’re in for a helluva trip.”

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is pretty long so if there are errors I missed please let me know ;_; also tags. I was kinda vague about Why Dipper was kicked out because he doesn't wanna talk about it but if it's obvious to you guys and you think it warrants a warning I can add it
> 
> kudos and comments are always appreciated! thanks for reading and putting up with my disaster self lmao


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